#okay but on a serious and depressing note it feels healthy to start collecting celebrations that aren't high key connected with twin loss

[lazulisong]

excuse me Facebook messenger I realize you are a piece of shit but why are you a piece of shit when I'm extorting cake money from Older Sis???? Tomorrow is one year of booblessness and I gotta make my own damn party

[woe-and-grow]

tbpdfw*

Those Childhood behaviors & experiences that I now get knowing I have bpd like:

Oh yeah identity issues:

Not understanding why when actors’ spoke about a character they were playing they treated it like a separate person because for me playing pretend meant becoming that character, another version of myself

Transfixing on my friend’s TigerBeat magazines even though I didn’t care about celebrities and getting a subscription myself just for the quizzes 

Getting really attached to specific words or phrases that you thought fit you or that other ppl used to describe you (for me it was “unique”, “empath”, not “normal”)

Using others’ descriptions of you as the way to describe yourself and your role in your own life (has big eyes, has nice smile, intelligent, artist)

Going to the bathroom in school to escape and end up just staring at myself in the mirror and asking who am I? I don’t recognize myself

Taking in bad descriptions of yourself and mean comments as truth as well (annoying, loud, talkative, sensitive, judgmental; you interrupt too much, you complain too much, you always think you’re right)

Getting really attached to IPod Touch backgrounds and saving ones that I thought represented me

Saving screencaps of the results of random silly quizzes as if collecting “facts” about myself

Taking on personality traits from a TV show character I liked and wanted to be like, wanting to dress like them, and wanting ppl to call me by the character’s name as a nickname

Quoting “Forgive and forget, that’s my motto” from a TV show character because it sounded cool and Right even though it wasn’t at all true about myself

Trying to copy some self-harming techniques I had heard to make my depression feel more valid

Throwing out a chocolate with caramel inside even though I liked it because I had previously always said I hated caramel and couldn’t contradict that

Acting like moments between you and another person or you in general were part of a movie and you had an imagined script of what dramatic thing you should say

Wanting attention & validation:

Doing and saying whatever to make adults you liked laugh or give you positive attention 

Finished painting a picture I was proud of (around age 3-5), my friend/neighbor who I’m painting with just finished finger painting something as well. My mom praises her and calls her choice to finger paint creative. I immediately smear my entire picture with my fingers

Carrying around a book of writings that I covered the outside with notes about it being “top secret” and “do NOT read” in the hopes of attracting interest so that someone would try to read it

Telling my best friend I *insert suicide ideation here* to hear her reaction in the hope of concern and attention

Biting at my mouth and lips in attempts of (unsuccessfully) hurting myself and getting attention after reading the book Speak in which a girl does the same in response to trauma

Talking nonstop, loudly and quickly in attempts to be heard; Having problems interrupting people in conversation  as I was used to being ignored and having limited time to be heard

Oversharing in class about personal experiences

Black and white thinking

Seeing my darker shift in mood as the new “bad” me vs the younger happier idealized version of myself as the old “good” me

Drawing images of broken mirrors, broken hearts, and thorny plants to represent this Bad new me vs regular hearts and thriving pretty plants as the old Good me

Seeing ppl as either minor acquaintances or Best Friends, no inbetween  

Feeling like ppl, even best friends, couldn’t get me and therefore we shouldn’t be friends anymore

Getting mad at ppl for having different opinions because they were Wrong

Unstable moods; Depression and thoughts of suicide or self-harm 

Feeling broken, wrong and messed up constantly for not being as happy as I once remembered

Writing dramatic sad poems about a perceived loss of innocence aka growing up which I concluded was the reason for the change

Leaving class just to wander under the guise of going to the bathroom, linger at windows and fantasize about running away somewhere happy

Continuously thinking about and wanting to break the mirrors but knowing it would be messy and probably hurt and I’d get in trouble

Feeling like I wanted to die before knowing what that meant and feeling like no one could save me

Punching my desk and the school porcelain sinks to feel my knuckles sting; scraping my hands with pens by drawing rough repeated lines over the skin to “punish” myself for being “bad”

Self-harming before knowing what that meant

Prolonging eating to punish yourself with hunger but giving into eating eventually

Feeling weak about not being able to commit to doing serious harm to myself

Having episodes of loss of interest in all things I found fun; feeling numb

Erratic sleeping patterns

Wanting to call in sick from school or pretend your sick to stay home because you just feel awful and don’t know why

Wanting to die on the way to school, passively feeling okay with the thought you might get hit by a car or bus

Unstable relationships; Imprinting, FPs, (Perceived) Abandonment & Splitting

Getting super attached to my first best friend in kindergarten and being convinced we’d be best friends forever 

Coming home crying every other day the next year when she got new friends who all didn’t want me around them

“Testing out” a new friend group everyday to try and find a place I felt like I belonged  

Spending recess after recess walking around alone and watching all the other kids play together reasoning everyone has a friend but me

Not playing with other kids who invited me to because they weren’t my Best Friend (cough baby’s first FP cough)

Getting super attached to my new neighbor/friend and jumping at any chance to hang out with her even when she was mean to me or didn’t really want to hang out with me

When she suddenly started avoiding me and stopped talking to me after years of friendship I went from hurt to completely uncaring as if we were never friends at all

At my new school, I once again spent my time trying out new friend groups and dropping them when they didn't fit me and ended up in the small assortment of “rejects” 

Going back and forth between being best friends, feeling better than them, feeling bad that they were putting energy into someone who really didn’t care

Feeling like I was pretending and didn’t care about them as much as they cared about me (none of them were my FP) and therefore we shouldn’t be friends at all 

Getting super attached to a new girl in school because I didn’t have any close friends and we were both Guyanese and therefore somehow connected; saying embarrassing things to her about how I felt detached from other friends and much closer to her in the span of only a few days

She told my other friend that I was like an annoying “dog” following her around and she switched schools within the next few weeks

I immediately into the “she never existed” mode of detachment 

Writing dramatically “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good friend to you when you were such a good friend to me” in my friend’s yearbook (knowing he wouldn’t see it until years later)

Getting super attached to and oversharing with teachers who showed me particular kindness and attention

Getting depressed when I noticed they showed kindness and attention individually to other students

Feeling not good enough or healthy enough to be in relationships

These are my personal experiences but maybe they are relatable to others with bpd.

((This is super long but I just felt like it needed to be said and shown that ppl with bpd often have signs of early symptoms in childhood that get worse later and that they often don’t understand until later. Hope this gives others with bpd some clarity.))

(EDIT: Remembered some more)

((EDIT - PLEASE READ:

This post is making large rounds recently and I feel I need to address it. A lot of time has passed since I made this post and I am in a much better place than I was when I made it. All of what I posted here is still true, in that they are my personal experiences. HOWEVER, I am no longer certain if bpd is what I have/had experienced. I have dealt with depression, anxiety, and extreme emotional highs and lows, as well as the symptoms listed in this post, but as I have grown and removed many of the more toxic elements and behaviors from my life, I no longer feel the daily swings that fit bpd. I am removing the bpd tags as such. I believe mental illness can be complicated and overlap with various disorders/conditions. Life and its effects on us as children and adults can be complex as well. 

I am glad people can find some comfort or clarity in this post, but my intention when I made it was NOT for people to use it as a clear sign they have borderline personality disorder. I want people who read this to access what they are experiencing and take everything here with a grain of salt, before self-diagnosing and talk to a trusted professional.

Take care. 

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Rendezvous with Death

Summary: The Winchesters and Reader are on a reaper case, and the reader needs to speak with Death. Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader, Death (first time writing him into a fic), and an OC reaper. No pairing. Word Count: 3,520 Warnings: TRIGGER: SUICIDE. Angst, plot heavy. Cliff hanger. Reader is not depressed—Dean has killed himself twice canonically to talk to a reaper; this is a case where the reader made that choice. Author’s Note: I was very nervous about writing this one. As part of my 1k Gif Submit celebration I was given the gif above and the prompt: “Sam being heart broken when he found out that you killed yourself” by @carry-on-ms-believer. I have never been depressed or had suicidal urges but I have friends who have and I’ve lost people in my life to suicide—I desperately didn’t want to make light of this serious issue, but I didn’t know how to approach it authentically as a writer who has never experienced it. I did the best I could, taking inspiration also from the Alan Seeger poem, “I Have a Rendezvous with Death”. I would appreciate feedback on this as it was way out of my comfort zone to write.

Someone had to die, and really, you were the best choice.

There was a rogue reaper in town. You and the Winchesters had caught the case when there were six unexplained deaths in the space of 8 days—it was like an epidemic.

So of course you’d rushed straight in.

Finding out it was a reaper had thrown a wrench in the plan. Those guys…well, usually, you had no business working with the figures of death. They did their jobs, they went on their way and, while it at times sucked, there was nothing much anyone could do about it. I mean…you can’t really interfere with death, right?

Or so you thought.

“Wait, you guys have worked a reaper case before?”

The boys traded glances. You hated when they did that—you knew they sometimes kept things from you and it drove you crazy.

“A few times, actually.” Sam spoke up first. The two men were practically older brothers to you now, but you were closest to Sam who understood you the best.

“The first time, a lady used some really ancient dark magic to bind a reaper, forcing it to kill others in the place of those who should have died—or would have—um…” Sam’s voice broke off as Dean’s face turned dark and angry. Apparently there were some bad memories with that case.

“And the other times?” You often found yourself playing peacemaker, and you had no idea why.

The two hunters were silent for almost half a minute, long enough for you to begin to feel awkward even across the room on the motel bed from where they sat at the table.

“Let’s just say when you’ve died as much as we have, reapers become less of a mystery. We’ve met them, even saved some—I got on a first name basis with my reaper, Tessa–”

“Wait, your reaper? So everyone has a specific one?” You had to interrupt Dean at that point.

Sam took over again, “well, yes, but each reaper has a list of people to collect. They know who and when to do so, and they do it. If the soul chooses not to go with the reaper to whichever destination the reaper has orders to take them too, then it becomes earthbound—a ghost…and eventually, a vengeful spirit.”

“Now, those I’m familiar with.” You knew most of this information already, but Sam was in professor mode and you hated to break his stride.

“Exactly. All the reapers get their orders telepathically from Death, the horseman, who has helped us out a few times.”

Sam said it so casually that it took you a second to register the meaning.

“I’m sorry, what? You guys are friends with Death? The Death? Capital D?”

Dean smiled, “yeah, he likes greasy foods, drives a lovely white ‘59 caddy, and will one day reap God, according to him. I wouldn’t call us BFFs.”

You felt your eyebrows crawl up towards your hairline and fought the shiver down your spine. You were a professional hunter, damn it.

“Okay, so let’s call him up. If he’s the boss, he should be the one to stop this one. The people this reaper are taking—it makes no sense. They’re healthy, then they just die. Doesn’t that mess with the natural order or something?”

Dean looked out the window instead of answering as Sam got up out of his chair and walked over to sit next to you.

“Well, it’s not that easy to get a hold of Death, you know. His reapers take orders from him, but they don’t get face time usually. He’s not an angel so he doesn’t hear prayers—”

“And wouldn’t answer them if he did.” Dean chimed in, his voice somewhere between resigned and bitter. “Look, the guy, or whatever he is, has made it very clear that he doesn’t care. Does he have the power to fix this? Absolutely. Without a doubt. Would he fix it if he knew about it? Maybe. Hell, he might already know and just can’t be bothered.”

Dean finally met your eyes, trying to drive the point home.

“He’s not the answer, Y/N.”

You held his gaze, tired of being treated like your ideas were childish or unhelpful. You might not have been in the business as long as the Winchesters, but you had instincts and they were screaming at you now.

“Do you have a better one, Dean? We’ve got nothing that can kill, control, or trap a reaper. We can’t just let this thing murder at it’s whim. I think talking to Death, or another reaper at least, would be the quickest solution—and speed is the key here, isn’t it? Every minute we don’t find a way to stop it–”

“I said no, Y/N.”

Dean got up, walked to the door and slammed it on his way out of the hotel leaving you sitting stunned next to Sam.

What the hell?

“Dean’s touchy about Death.” Sam had an apologetic look on his face and you realized you’d voiced your thought by accident. “You remember us telling you about the year I was soulless?” You nodded, encouraging him. “Well, Dean got my soul back by working with Death….or actually, by working as Death. He did a deal where he became a reaper for 24 hours in exchange for Death getting my soul out of Lucifer’s cage. From what Bobby says, it shook him. My memory—it’s still a bit patchy, and he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

The silence settled over the room again as you let that attempt to sink in. Before you managed it, Sam sighed, rubbing his palms over his jeans and standing up. “So, it looks like we need to find another way. I’m going to call Bobby—will you start digging online?” You nodded, too preoccupied to argue for your plan at the moment.

Two days had passed. You had found nothing. Castiel wasn’t answering prayers, Bobby kept digging up  lore that all said a reaper was basically unstoppable unless you called on something even worse, and Dean was getting increasingly angry. You had only tried to bring up your plan one more time, but the words faltered on your lips when you saw his face. Sam was silent, not backing you up.

And someone else had died.

A waitress—your age, named Susie. She had a fiance. Healthy, exercised, great condition according to the ME you interviewed in your Fed suit. But inexplicably dead. When you looked at her on the morgue table, you couldn’t escape the weight that seemed to land on your shoulders.

You knew what had killed her. You had known in time to save her. And you hadn’t.

Who would it be next time? A kid? Some harmless granny?

You left the morgue determined that you were going to put this case to bed. If the Winchesters weren’t willing to talk to the reaper boss, then you would have to.

“Sam, Bobby called. He thinks he’s found an artifact that can help. It’s at his place, and he suggested you hurry, as if you didn’t already know that.” You schooled your expression, determined not to give your lie away.

You’d never lied to the brothers before. That was in your favor. They didn’t know to look for a betrayal from you.

Sam held out his hand and Dean threw him the keys. “I’ll be back late tonight, then. Dean, Y/N, you guys figure out how to track this thing. Having some magic artifact isn’t going to do much good if we can’t find the damn reaper.”

Dean threw him a sarcastic salute, “sure thing, boss.” Sam’s bitch face was the expected response, and you almost gave in—these were your friends, your family. How could you lie to them like this?

Then you remembered the woman’s face in the morgue. So you kept your trap shut and watched Sam leave.

You spent the next hour helping Dean research a tracking spell that you knew he wouldn’t have to use, trying to assuage your guilt, trying not to think too hard about the plan you were about to set in motion.

You had to time this perfectly—before Sam could get to Bobby and figure out your lie.

“Hey, Dean, I’m starving. You hungry yet?”

He looked up from the hunter’s journal he was skimming through and smiled, glad for a chance to take a break, probably. “Sammy’s got the impala, Y/N. I figured we’d wait till he was back, grab some burgers or something on our way to gank this bastard.”

You smiled back, “no need to wait. There’s a pizza place on the corner. If we’re feeling nice, we’ll save Sam a slice or two.” You winked and Dean stood, stretching.

“Sounds good to me. Pepperoni and sausage?”

“You know me, add some mushrooms on there.” Dean nodded, grabbing his jacket and heading out the door. “I’ll be back in twenty, twenty-five then.”

“Thanks, Dean.” You kept your voice steady. You couldn’t tip him off.

You deserved a damn Oscar for this performance.

As soon as he was around the corner, you got up, locked the door and found a pen. You scribbled down the drug’s name and dosage, knowing that when Dean gave it to the doctor it would increase the probability of you being able to come back.

You tried not to think about it as you lined the pills up and the glass of water. You needed to talk to a reaper, or Death. And this was the job.

The veil wasn’t as easy to navigate as you had hoped. You hadn’t woken up outside of your body as you had expected, instead finding yourself in some dense foggy landscape where nothing was clear. Maybe it was the drugs.

After a while you found yourself back in the room—but your body wasn’t there. Neither was Dean, though the pizza was on the floor and your note was gone. So he must have found you and taken you to the hospital, like you knew he would.

Now you just had to find your reaper before, you refused to think ‘if’, they brought you back.

“Hello? Newly dead chick here, looking for her reaper?”

You heard a laugh behind you and spun, feeling surprisingly corporeal in the process, to find a young blonde man in a suit sprawled out on the motel bed.

“Not looking very hard, are you, Y/N? I’m right here.”

He smiled and you instantly felt relaxed. This was a guy you could trust, you could tell. Whatever he said was probably—no. That was just one of the reaper powers you had read about: their aura of persuasion. It made their job easier.

“Interesting.” He sat up and you remembered that reapers could read minds. “Yes, we can. Which means I know why you’re here already. I was a bit surprised actually—with hunters, the life span is always a short one, but you weren’t due yet. Now I see, you want me to put in a call to my boss?”

You nodded, trying to find your voice.

“I’ve got some information for him.”

“Tough.” Your reaper swung his legs off the bed, standing and walking over towards you. He was a few inches taller and you noticed he had deep brown eyes and dimples. Of course, you knew reapers could appear however they wanted to—it was another one of those persuasion tactics.

“He gives us orders. We go where he tells us to, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, well, one of your buddies has broken ranks and isn’t following orders. That’s why I’m here.”

“No, you’re here because you ODed on pills and are in a hospital right now all but dead.” He was quickly losing his charm.

“Look, reaper…what do I call you, anyway? I know you guys have names.”

He looked you up and down for a second, then a bit of a smile crept back onto his face. “Call me Bradley.”

“Fine, Bradley. You and your boss have a problem, and you need to clean it up.”

He started laughing at that—a chuckle that turned into a deep belly laugh and soon he was bent at the waist, hands on his thighs trying to catch his breath while you stared at him, blushing at first, then getting increasingly angry.

Your own personal grim reaper wasn’t grim at all—and your rendezvous with Death was quickly going downhill.

“You—I’m sorry, that’s just hilarious. You, a little insignificant human girl, you have the audacity to try and tell Death what he should do. Trying to boss me would be sad and predictable, but him? Just—” his chortle broke through again and you could see he wasn’t really trying to restrain his mirth.

“Look, I’m friends with Sam and Dean and need to get word to Death. I’m sure you know they’ve had dealings with him before, so just pass the word along already.”

Bradley’s laughter died pretty quickly, but he didn’t lose the smirk as he settled back on the bed, relaxed and smug.

“Or I could just wait until the doctors get done trying to revive you and move you to whichever afterlife you’re destined for and get on with my evening.”

“I won’t go. Sam and Dean need me.”

He looked up at that one, obviously not pleased. “You’re a hunter. You know what happens to souls that stay.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, letting your expression display your determination. Sam always said you were more stubborn than the two of them put together—he wouldn’t be surprised.

Bradley obviously could tell you meant it. “Fine, then I get to move on even quicker–”

“Not so fast, Bradley.” You turned to find a gaunt faced man wearing what looked like a funeral director’s suit, holding a cane, and leaning against the closed door of the motel.

“Let’s hear what Y/N is so desperate to tell me that she’s willing to die to deliver the message.”

So this was Death. You felt a shiver roll up your spine as you listened to him talk—his voice was old, confident, and knowing. For the first time, you doubted your own plan. Perhaps these waters were too deep for you to swim in.

“Willing to risk death, you mean. And that’s kind of the job description when you’re a hunter—especially one who works with Sam and Dean. They–”

“Think carefully before you continue. I know they did not ask nor approve of this action of yours. I have taught Dean quite vividly the repercussions of playing with life and death. I have taught him to respect the natural order, to respect me. Even though he clearly hasn’t passed that teaching on to his protege.”

You were struck speechless at that point. You needed him to listen to you, but this wasn’t a great start. Bradley’s smug grin jump started your brain again and you pulled yourself together as best you could.

“It’s about the natural order that I wanted to talk to you. The case Sam, Dean, and I are working on—there’s a reaper who’s gone dark side. It’s killing people randomly, for no reason. Isn’t that playing with life and death? Or do those repercussions only apply to humans?”

Death raised an eyebrow at you, and you gulped, wondering if you had pushed it too far.  Bobby had told you once that your sass would probably get you killed one day—well, you might already be dead, but would it be what kept you that way?

Then he turned that eyebrow towards Bradley who lost his smug expression, straightening into an almost military stance as he listened to whatever Death was telling him telepathically.

“Yes, sir. I’ll look into it. About Y/N, do you want me to—Yes, sir.”

Then he was gone. And you were standing there in a crappy motel room with Death.

The silence lasted a minute while he stared at you.

“Umm…thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me. I’m still deciding whether or not I will reap you today. It’s not your time, but I am sick of you hunters abusing the finality of death. You all seem to lack the capacity to grasp the consequences.”

You hurried to defend yourself, “I knew exactly what risk I was–.”

“No, you didn’t. Consequences are never just about one soul. You humans are hopelessly dependent on one another, and your life intertwines with many others….perhaps I had better show you.”

Then you weren’t in the hotel any more. You were standing outside a hospital, an ambulance siren sounding nearby, but your gaze was riveted on Dean, pacing outside the entrance way and looking out into the parking lot where you and Death stood.

“Can he see–”

“No. Not this time. He has learned his lesson—this is about you.”

You heard the growl of a familiar engine and turned to see the impala swing into the lot, Sam behind the wheel. He swung into the first available space, practically out of the door before the car was off.

“Dean! What happened? The hotel manager said–”

“I tried to call you, but your phone was dead. Y/N…”

You had moved closer, Death trailing after you, watching your face with interest. Dean was a mess—his hair standing up as if he had been running his hands through it, his hands were shaking, over-adrenalized and maybe in shock.

Wait, Dean in shock?

“She…I found her, Sammy. I had been out to get a pizza, I swear it only took me twenty minutes…she said she was hungry and I—she took pills, Sam. By the time the ambulance got her here she wasn’t breathing….” Dean’s voice broke and it was obvious he couldn’t continue.

Sam. Oh, God, Sam.

His face was heartbroken, tears in his eyes as he swallowed, trying to understand what…why….

“Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry. I had to, guys. I’ll make this right, I promise.”

Your voice was a raw whisper, and even if you had been visible to them, they probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

“Is she…have the doctors…?”

Dean sniffed, looking up as if for guidance, maybe praying for Castiel, maybe looking for some other kind of strength before he continued. “She’s fighting, man, you know her…but the doctors…they said they can’t do anything else but wait…and her chances….”

“God, Dean, this is our fault. We pulled her further into this life, into hunting. We brought her on this case. What if…”

“I know. I can’t…I’ve been praying to Cass, and nothing so far. I don’t know what to do. We can’t do this without her. We’ve got too many ghosts haunting us as it is….we can’t just….”

Sam nodded, gulping and pushing past Dean who followed him into the hospital.

You felt Death step closer and you looked up at him.

What have I done?

The Winchesters had already lost so many people…how could you have done this to them?

You had to go back.

You started to follow them in but were stopped by Death’s cane extended in front of you.

“Not so fast. I haven’t made my decision yet.”

“But…I have to…I can’t leave them! I didn’t think–”

“Exactly my point. You didn’t think.” Death’s gaze was intense as he stepped closer to you moving into your personal space. “And actions without thought have consequences.”

You looked down and away, cowed by his words, his presence.

“I think, this time, I won’t interfere at all.” Death’s judgment came as his cane lowered, his voice pensive. “I won’t put you back, but I won’t take you away either. We’ll see what your doctors and your friends can do for you. If you make it back, hopefully you’ve learned your lesson. If you don’t, perhaps the Winchesters will learn something from this themselves.

“Either way, I’m busy, and I have spent far too much time on this little drama as it is. Thanks for blowing the whistle on my disgruntled employee. That has been taken care of.”

And he was gone. You were standing alone in the hospital parking lot, the lights from the building beckoning you in.

You were scared, you were sorry, and you wanted desperately to go in and find the boys.

But you knew you were much more likely to find Bradley waiting for you instead.

You closed your eyes, swallowed your fears and walked towards and through the doors, your body insubstantial as you stepped inside.

It was time—to try and keep your promise to the boys—or to keep the promise that every living mortal has with their reaper, to one day meet them and move on.

And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

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